


Like A Landslide

by Schmiezi



Series: ABC-Series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU because post-Reichenbach, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mentioning Of Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Romance, Sickfic, Tissues Might Be Needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schmiezi/pseuds/Schmiezi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People usually assume that Sherlock happened to John like a landslide, unstoppable sometimes and surely dangerous. They assume living with Sherlock is like taking part in an obscure lottery, where you never know what you will get when you come home at night. </p><p>But they are idiots, and so they completely fail to see how John is happening to Sherlock in return, like a maelstrom that pulled him in with unbelievable force and that will never let him out again. Not that Sherlock would want a way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Second part to "Private Ponderings". You do not have to read that one first, but I've been told that it is more fun if you do. :-)
> 
> Each chaper still follows a prompt, that being a list of words that need to be in the chapter, all starting with the same letter.

Sherlock Holmes is in love.

It had taken John H. Watson an inexcusable amount of time to give in to it but in his defence it must be said that (a) at first he had thought they would have limitless time to figure it all out and (b) he had been so lonely and completely broken after Sherlock's faked death that even Sherlock's return had not mended John's heart instantly. And, of course, (c) he had been engaged by the time Sherlock finally decided to confess.

Many people would probably also bring up the facts that (d) Sherlock is an egoistic lunatic and (e) dangerous to be with but that has never stopped John from loving him before.

Sometimes, John wonders how his life would have turned out had he not accidentally found the email Sherlock had written to Mary. The email that included twenty points on how to make John happy. 

***

On the fourth morning after telling Sherlock he loves him too by writing it on a post-it, John wakes up feeling warm and content. In Mary's house in Kensington he always woke up freezing, but there is something about 221b that makes him feel warm inside.

One the one hand it surely is because Baker Street is home, no matter how hard John had tried to deny that at length during the last two years. On the other hand, it is because Sherlock really meant what he had written to Mary in point 1 of The List. The one Mary thought to be a distasteful joke, “John prefers rooms warm. Make sure the indoor temperature is always around 21°. He will not complain when too cold, so keep an eye on the thermostat.” 

They will spend a fortune with the next utility bill.

Oh, and of course the feeling of warmth comes from Sherlock leeching on to him every morning. After only four nights John can already tell how deeply Sherlock is sleeping by the way his lanky limbs are sprawled out around John's body. When they are limp, Sherlock is still slumbering peacefully. When there is a slight tremor in them, he dreams. When there is tension in them, he is already awake, deducing what John dreamt from John's breathing pattern or whatever. When his hands are sliding down lustfully, past John's navel, he is lewd.

The idea that Sherlock is content just lying in bed, holding John sometimes lovingly and sometimes lecherously still feels strange but whenever John wakes up there is always a certain amount of Sherlock covering John's body.

This morning, Sherlock is still sleeping. One of his legs is resting on John's pelvis, one of his arms is lying on John's shoulder while his face is pressed against John's neck. That man is as limber as a cat. The idea of Sherlock's lush lips against his neck makes John shiver with lust.

This subtle movement is enough to wake up Sherlock. John feels him pressing against his back, feels Sherlock's libido waking up as well, and quickly wonders if they had left the lubricant somewhere within reach yesterday. If not, he would be ready to settle for some licking. He anticipates Sherlock's hot lips onto his neck but to his surprise nothing happens.

After a while, he turns around to face Sherlock. Unlike on the last three mornings, there is no leering smile on his friend's lips but a thoughtful look. “Are you all right?” he asks when Sherlock does not say something but continues to stare into John's eyes. For a second, John gets lost in these wonderful, lustrous, funny-coloured eyes.

“You cannot imagine how lonely I've been without you. Or how lovesick,” Sherlock confesses then, quietly, and John's heart swells. Well, not only his heart to be true but he is only human, after all.

Sherlock's laughter is warm and gentle. “How very convenient that I have brought lots of lube last week when you said we would only need one tube,” he points out, as immodest as always, and John has to chuckle as well.

He cannot remember a single time he had sex with Mary while giggling. What a shame.

***

Sherlock is sitting on the ground somewhere in London, leaning against a lamppost, without the slightest idea of where and why. His mind is too slow to figure it out. Coldness is seeping into his body, unpleasantly, disturbingly. His back is cold, his legs are cold, his left hand that is lying limp-wristed on the ground next to his body is cold. The only warm spot is his belly and his right hand that is pressed against said belly, for some obscure reason.

And his brain is too slow.

He tries to get up but his legs give in almost instantly and he sinks back to the cold ground. Loneliness fills him and the strange feeling that John is late for something.

Why is his right hand not cold? He wants to look down to his belly to find out but is scared that he will not have enough energy to lift his head again afterwards. After a while, he lets his head sink down anyway. His brain needs too much time to make sense of the red liquid he sees, straining his white shirt and his belly and the ground. It is lukewarm, thus his non-cold right hand.

Blood. More than a litre, his sluggish mind offers, unable to pinpoint the exact amount. His head hurts, he is thirsty. Where is John?

Steps in the alley, someone shouting. The beeping sound in Sherlock's ears is too loud to understand but the resonance the voice leaves in Sherlock's stomach tells him it is John. He wishes he could raise his head for he is longing to see John's face.

Then John is looming over him larger than life, touching his face, raising Sherlock's head so their eyes can lock. Talking, incomprehensible words. Doing something to Sherlock's belly. Darkness closing in from the rims of his vision. John face, always so expressive. Now: concerned, scared, guilty, compassionate, determined. Eyes wide open in fear. 

“Your eyes are looking lovely,” Sherlock whispers, the most important thing to say on his mind right now. John freezes, then talks again. Soothing stream of warm timbre. Liquefied words, bathing him in security, like sunlight in the afternoon. John is his home. Sherlock reaches out for him, catching him by his arm, clings to it with force.

Sirens coming closer, darkness getting darker. Suddenly there is pain in his belly, burning his breathe away. It is vital now not to let go of John's arm. The look in John's eyes hurts more than the wound Sherlock still cannot remember receiving.

He needs to concentrate on breathing, for some reason it does not happen on its own any longer. And he needs to cling to John's arm. No matter how dark it gets.

Suddenly there are footsteps, running, more voices. Paramedics? They are loud and annoying and they disturb his already limited concentration. But he needs to concentrate, on breathing and on clinging to John, to his lifeguard. He feels hands, feels lateral movement, does not understand why.

His head must be lying flat on the ground now for he can see the luminous blue sky behind the stranger's faces. His eyes dart around, feverishly looking for John, for his lighthouse in the midst of this chaos. He cannot see him any longer, only feels the texture of his jumper against his hand. 

Then he is moved again, fast, and his grip on John gets more loosely. Then their linking is severed. Without his anchor, there is no holding back the darkness. Sherlock is falling, and falling, and then there is nothing.

When he opens his eyes again, everything is blurry for a while. Then the world gracefully shifts into focus. Hospital, in the north of London, lamplight on John's face means after dark. Circles underneath John's eyes mean late night. Or deep emotional stress.

Sherlock squeezes John's hand, not able to do much else. John's eyes light up instantly. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” he quips with a little smile. A lame saying but necessary to lighten John's apparently dark mood.

John reaches out for Sherlock's cheek, caresses it. His lovable eyes still dark with concern. His back stiff. Has slept on a hospital chair for more than five nights in a row. So Sherlock's condition had been really serious.

John is uncomfortable, worn out, tired, and yet instantly ready to lavish care on Sherlock. That makes Sherlock's mind leap back to point 2 of the email he had written for Mary some weeks ago.

“John likes to take care. Give him situations in which he can do so, e.g. you could sprain an ankle or catch the flu. That will heal him faster than your tedious “Time heals all wounds” mentality. Time does not heal all wounds. Believe me.”

Sherlock is intubated, cannot speak, cannot tell John he is fine now. Cannot tell him how sorry he is for worrying John. Cannot tell him that John needed not to worry for Sherlock will never lose the will to live, will never give up, at least not as long as John is still there. Cannot tell him how sorry he is for saying something like “Let's live for today” only an hour before running into the assault he now remembers more clearly.

But John is a genius when it comes to them being a couple and his obviously telepathic abilities are stunning. His laboured smile becomes a real one and he pats Sherlock's chest, “Next time you want me to be occupied, you could just sprain an ankle or catch laryngitis, couldn't you?”

***

John is a patient man. He can take more of Sherlock's Sherlockness than other people before feeling the need to punch him. That is why he can stand living with this insane, wonderful madman. That is why he can stand loving him without ever contemplating leaving him.

He manages to remain patient without lamenting the loss of his mobile after Sherlock drowned it in lacquer to solve a case. He manages to be understanding when he finds ear lobes in his favourite mug. 

He is perfectly relaxed when Sherlock and Harry start to fight over Harry's “lesbian, too” comment she had left on John's blog. Even though both of them are driving him crazy at the same time and that is really an extremely huge demonstration on how patient he is.

He does not complain when they spend his birthday in the library, comparing lexicons because something about her linguistic knowledge is about to convict a landlady. Well, the fact that Sherlock wears his new lilac shirt that day knowing that it is a definite turn-on for John makes up for that. Definitely. And also the fact that they shag inside the library's toilet twice as a birthday present.

Yes, John considers himself to be a patient man who light-heartedly stands all the little things that would drive everyone else insane and is nothing but loyal. 

Except when he is not. For good reason.

“What really makes me angry right now is the fact that you don't even know why I'm angry!” he hisses in Sherlock's direction, wishing he could turn his head around to give him an angry glance. But all he can do is angrily lean against the leather jacket Sherlock is wearing as a disguise. And try not to stop being angry just because he loves the scent of lemon soap Sherlock is emanating. Or because he imagines Sherlock's nearly luminescent eyes right now.

“Listen to yourself, John. You are being ridiculous,” Sherlock huffs, and John feels him moving their hands. In vain. The leather jacket is rubbed against the leotard that should have been John's cover had they only been a bit faster. At least he is wearing something comfortable.

“I am a great listener to myself” John steams, still angry, “but there will be no love and light and laughter until this argument is solved!” When he hears Sherlock taking in a deep breathe to answer, he quickly adds, “And it will not be solved by having sex.”

He hears Sherlock sigh. Deeply. Then a pause. Then another sigh.

“You did not mind the liver I placed in the kitchen sink,” he hears Sherlock's deduction voice, “and you smiled at the limerick about leaving like Lord Lucan I left at your blog. I have not done the laundry but I never do it and you love me anyway.”

His voice was picking up pace, “You did not mind getting lost in Latvia with me and you secretly enjoyed falling into that lorry load of lemons. You volunteered to steal the left-luggage locker without me persuading you with oral sex. You could be angry about the high number of ladybirds I set free in the bathroom, but that is unlikely because you have been appeased with long-stemmed roses in advance.”

That bugger. John had known the roses served a purpose other than just pleasing him. “You know that I stepped on your Lou Reed record accidentally” Sherlock went on, leaning his head against John's now, “and you have already forgiven me taking the liberty of suggesting that Latin lover disguise.”

John feels Sherlock move their hands once more, but can not figure out the purpose this time. “Your shoulder gets sore if it is strained like this” Sherlock supplies the answer without being asked. Damn! When Sherlock does something selflessly nice, John's anger is very likely to subside prematurely.

“That does not make your actions right,” he snaps half-heartedly. Oh sod it, Sherlock must already be deducing John's subsiding anger. Better get through with this fight as long as they were sticking together in the living-room. Literally. After their liberation John would surely be too pacified to finish this.

“I am angry because of point three,” John explains, and hears Sherlock gasp in surprise. 

“You figured it out,” Sherlock states lively. “Well done, John. I really underestimated your lucidity!” Yes, leave it to Sherlock to make an insult sound like a compliment. There is another pause on Sherlock's part. Then, “Can we just presume that I have learnt the lesson and move on?”

John feels uncontrollable laughter rise in his throat. His mind tells him that laughing like mad is a bad idea when the Ligurian mafia guys that tied you up with ligatures against your lover in the middle of your own living room are still in the kitchen, discussing what to do with the two of you now.

“Sherlock, you practically invited over the mafia for some lambasting because you thought there was a lack of serious danger in my life. Only one week after I nearly got boiled in hot latex. I don't care that you have learnt a lot already, that is a definite NO.”

Sherlock stops trying to free them for a moment. He must also be thinking about point three now, which reads, “John needs a certain amount of danger in his life. He gets restless and cantankerous if too secure. Danger makes him forget his own imperfections.”

Oh. In his anger John had completely forgotten about these cantankerous and imperfection bits. He quickly rethinks his own actions during the last two or three days. Blimey. He licks his lips in sudden distress.

“I have been quite cantankerous lately, haven't I?”

In his mind, he sees Sherlock's face doing this distress thing it always does when he tries to figure out how to answer one of John's questions truthfully yet non-transgressing. John has to smile, the lingering aftertaste of being angry already vanished.

“You called me lazybones just because I've been languishing on the sofa, even though I've been very busy learning Lithuanian,” Sherlock reminds him, sounding more like a five-year-old than usual. 

“You've been listening to gruesome, incomprehensible music the whole day,” John reminds him, just in case he has forgotten. 

“Gruesome Lithuanian music,” Sherlock huffs. “And those were love songs. The lyrics would make you cry if I presented them to you in English. I could easily lure you to bed with those lovely lullabies.”

John considers that for a moment. “Sherlock,” he then points out, “you could lure my to bed by pointing at it. You luring me to bed is really no big achievement. I'm basically looking for love or lust all the time when you are concerned”

Sherlock falls quiet for a rather long time. “Apparently,” he agrees then.

How John would love to be able to lean back now and look at Sherlock in his leather trousers and leather jacket, looking restless and reckless and lost.

John shifts his back a little. His back hurts from sitting on the ground for more than one hour now and he fears that the left-sided lumbago he had last year could be coming back. Sherlock instantly moves accordingly, stretches and twists a little, and within seconds John's back is better. His heart melts along with the pain in his back.

Sherlock is not the typical romantic lover other people seem to long for. He would never give John flowers without purpose or expensive presents. But he turns up the heater so John is warm and strains his back so John is comfortable. There is lots of love in those little things, John knows. Oh, damn it, now he has stopped being angry at all. He lets his head fall back, rests it against the back of Sherlock's and smiles.

Lestrade will soon be here to free them, he knows, and with the argument already settled, they will not need to waste further time once they are alone again. Where did he put that lotion? 

“It's standing next to our bed already,” Sherlock volunteers unasked, and John can not help but giggle this time.

***

People usually assume that Sherlock happened to John like a landslide, unstoppable sometimes and surely dangerous. They assume living with Sherlock is like taking part in an obscure lottery, where you never know what you will get when you come home at night. 

But they are idiots, and so they completely fail to see how John is happening to Sherlock in return, like a maelstrom that pulled him in with unbelievable force and that will never let him out again. Not that Sherlock would want a way out.

People usually pity John for liaising with Sherlock.

They only notice how Sherlock stores body parts in the fridge. How he sends John to buy milk right after passing by a grocery store. How he convinces John to spend a cold night with him in a lookout to convict a thief, warmed only by Lebanese cuisine that must have once been luscious but after six hours in a heat retaining package is lubricious at best. How he forces John to pretend to be living in a loft in Liverpool for two weeks to solve a case.

But they do not see Sherlock looking at John's wonderful face on that lookout, illuminated only by lunar light, and they can not know how Sherlock's heart swells at the sight. 

They do not get the inside joke of one lucky cat in every room of that loft. They are not there to see John smiling at that. And they did not hear how loud John had laughed when finding the hidden travelling lemon on the flight to Liverpool.

Sherlock had never thought he could make someone laugh. But then, he also never thought someone could love him.

People usually fail to realise how Sherlock had spent his hiatus thinking of John, longing for less long-lasting loneliness every night, missing him so much it had hurt. They never assume Sherlock could be lying on the sofa lasciviously, hiding the leather leash from John's view for now, pretending to be all in control and his arrogant self, when all Sherlock can think of is John's approval and wonder why that fact does not make him feel weak.

People do not know that Sherlock watches John closely every evening, for signs of upcoming nightmares, ready to leave the light on when turning in if necessary. People in their idiocy completely fail to understand that even a lionheart like John can be shaken by wounds of the past.

John's nightmares are a thorn in Sherlock's side, for they hurt John, and Sherlock can not chase them away for good. He can only anticipate them coming, learnt that during the first month of their flat-sharing. Long before he had realised he was in love with his man. 

The nightmares bothered Sherlock so much he dedicated them a point in his email to Mary, a rather long one. He remembers the words clearly, “You can tell he will have a nightmare by the way he sits in his chair prior to going to bed. See pictures in attachment 1. Waking him when next to him can be dangerous (ex-soldier). Playing an instrument in another room shortly after the nightmare starts is a well-proven method. If you do not play an instrument, learn how to do so. Soon.”

Whenever Sherlock thinks of that point of his email, he is even more glad John has left Mary than usual. Mary could have followed the instructions down to the very last letter without becoming any good in taking care for John.

And yet, four years after being introduced to John, six months after writing that email, four months after John had declared his love for Sherlock on a post-it, there is still nothing better Sherlock can do to keep the nightmares at bay than playing the violin shortly before the dream starts. In his dark moments that makes him wonder if their liaison is any good for John at all.

And Sherlock has tried so many things already. He tries to stop John eating too much too late at night by taking him out for a lavish lunch (No obvious change to the number of nightmares. But John lost even more weight due to eating less late at night. Not recommended). 

He tries to make John drunk before going to bed, using different types of alcohol (Only intensified the nightmares. Lemon liquor has worst effects).

He tries to use John's old room as their shared bedroom in lieu of Sherlock's (No change in nightmare patterns. But had resulted in finding John's collection of Lucky Luke comic books from when he was a child. That had resulted in Sherlock being forced to make fun of him for days. That had resulted in John not making tea for Sherlock for days. Changing bedrooms is not recommended, too).

He has tried all that and more without telling John what he was trying to do, of course. 

People usually consider John to be an affable and lusty person but they always fail to see how proud he is. He would never wear close-fitting leggings, for example, no matter how urgently Sherlock needs him to for solving a case. He would never embarrass himself in front of some members of the landed gentry by hanging onto a lustre, no matter how much Sherlock needs him to for solving a case.

John can be quite egoistic in that respect.

And he would never admit that those nightmares put him under stress. So Sherlock has to become a liar.

“I needed to wear my new livery in public to analyse its effect on other people,” he lies when John asks him why they are going out for lunch that often.

“Drunkenness has a similar effect on the biochemical processes of sinistral people as a lobotomy has,” he pretends while taking John's blood just to make the excuse more believable.

“I only wanted to see if my sleeping cycle is different in your old room,” he lies through his teeth. “Laterz,” he always adds and leaves the flat as quickly as possible when John starts to scrutinise Sherlock's lies.

Sherlock is so occupied with stopping the nightmares that it takes him several weeks before realising John does not believe his excuses … but always pretends to do so. 

Why? Why does he play along Sherlock's lies? No matter how many hours Sherlock spends curled up on the sofa thinking about it, he can not solve that mystery. And he absolutely loves the fact that John is beyond him in certain respects.

Sherlock thinks that he will need a lifetime to fully understand John. He considers taking him as his lawful husband, just to make sure he will get all the time he needs. Sherlock also thinks he never wants to fully understand John. 

People are idiots. People will never understand that Sherlock is in love, actually truly, madly, deeply, and obviously, and only and all the other clichés. It's a good thing that neither Sherlock nor John are one of them.


	2. Outward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful thing about John is that he speaks Sherlock As A Second Language fluently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> it's been a while, but here it finally is. Sorry to let you all waiting so long. 
> 
> A list with about 90 words, all starting with "O" is what this chapter comes from. Enjoy!

There is a stain on the living room ceiling, about the size of an ostrich egg and of a colour that slightly resembles John's oatmeal jumper. It is the remnant of an experiment gone wrong, one of those Sherlock had conducted after his return, when John was living with Mary. When he was alone. It is located directly above the sofa, and Sherlock has perfected staring at it to give the Oscar-worthy performance of being bored. 

It is a shame that John is away and can not see him pretending to be bored, because it is a very convincing performance. Sherlock is sure of that. Of course, if John was there, Sherlock would have no need to appear bored on the outside. If John was here, Sherlock would have no reason to feel completely panicked and lost in the first place.

Sherlock repeats the scene over and over again in his head. It was nothing more than an ordinary offence, really. A rather uninspired one, Sherlock has to admit. He might concede that his timing has been a bit not good, though, for John was a bit edgy all day. But in Sherlock's defence it must be mentioned that his patience was strained all day long, too. There is a limit to how many hours of Harry Sherlock can stand, even when appeased with oral sex before the meeting. 

And there is definitely a limit to how many times Sherlock can stand seeing John being disappointed by her. No wonder he was pointing out the obvious after 126 minutes. No wonder he did not care about sugar coating it. 

What happened afterwards is still a bit obscure to Sherlock, but it had ended not only with Harry, but also with John storming out angrily, leaving Sherlock on his own. Which made no sense at all, for Sherlock had clearly aimed at hurting Harry, not John.

And yet, here Sherlock is, alone in the flat. He spends the first hour being completely unimpressed by John's overrated exit and pretends to have lots of fun correcting the orthography in three different online newspapers.

He spends the second hour thinking about what he had written about situations like that to Mary (“He leaves when arguing too intensely. Do not be alarmed. He always comes back. Do not follow him or call him or text him or send someone after him to watch him or check his oyster card. Apparently that would be a nearly unforgivable course of action. Just leave him some space.”). 

He spends the third hour wondering how he could ever have believed in the “He always comes back” part. 

After four hours, he notices a certain lack of oxygen in the room. What other reason could there be for him to feel unable to breath properly?

John is overdue. Normally he always reappears after no more than three hours and fifteen minutes. But the minutes keep ticking away, and he does not come back, no matter how bored Sherlock pretends to be. How long will he stay away the day their relationship will be officially over? Or has that day come already? Is their metaphorical ship only outward bound, or sinking already? Sherlock tries to deduce how angry John had really been before leaving, but his brain still seems to be out of order. 

He tries to take deep breaths and fails. 

Then, finally, after five hours, twenty-six minutes and eight seconds, the front door is opened, and there are steps on the stairs. Sherlock knows that he should be able to deduce John's mood by listening to the steps, but he fails. Will John come back to forgive him? Or just to pick up his overnight bag? Does he know that Sherlock has already packed an overnight bag for him, just in case?

Almost too late Sherlock remembers that he wanted to appear bored, but he is not entirely sure that his performance is still as Oscar-worthy as it was three hours ago. He hears John entering the flat and stares at the stain on the ceiling. His breath does funny things inside his chest. His mouth is dry, and he is unable to speak, which comes in handy, for he wanted to pretend that he does not want to talk to John anyway. He swallows, not daring to look at him.

He can hear John standing in the living room for a moment before he speaks up, “I've brought take-away from your favourite Osteria.”

Sherlock's head snaps around involuntarily, and all he can do is stare at John. Now his deduction skills slowly come online again. John is wet from the rain that started falling three hours and thirty-eight minutes ago, and cold because he only took his light jacket, Sherlock's olfactory sense tells him that there are olives and oregano omelettes in the take-away bag, and the dirt on John's shoes tell him all about his odyssee through at least four districts, and John is … sorry? Sherlock frowns. Why is he not angry?

“Oh” he answers, still staring, completely overwhelmed. 

“I'm sorry for staying away so long, I just needed to let off some steam,” John goes on, as if Sherlock was not feeling completely out of character, “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“I wasn't scared,” Sherlock lies. He looks at the stain again, knowing that eye-contact with John would give away his inner turmoil instantly. 

“Of course not,” John replies, but there is a smile in his voice and against all overwhelming odds he leans down and presses a gentle kiss on Sherlock's forehead. 

“I … “ Sherlock starts and stops again. Am sorry? Missed you? Can't stand loosing you? “... prefer tuna omelette.” But the wonderful thing about John is that he speaks Sherlock As A Second Language fluently. He understands I am sorry and I missed you and I can't stand loosing you without even giving it a second thought. 

***

John knows that he is living under constant observation. 

On the one hand, there is Mycroft, of course, with all his surveillance cameras and microphones. Once they were in every room, covering every corner of 221b. John felt watched with every step he took. Then Sherlock came up with a brilliant strategy to get rid of them, and four days and twenty-six extremely dirty orgasms later at least the bathroom and their sleeping room are surveillance- free.

Sherlock, on the other hand, is still observing John closely. At first, John feels a bit like a celebrity. Then it dawns to him that he should rather feel like a lab rat. Or maybe like a nicely treated lab beagle, loved and petted regularly, but stuck in a never ending series of experiments.

There was a set of experiments at the beginning of their friendship, like, how many organs can be stored in the fridge before John gets angry? (eight) 

(Sherlock must have been impressed with the result of that one, for it even made its way into his letter to Mary, saying, He does not mind an average number of body parts in the fridge. But I doubt that this knowledge is helpful for you and your boring daily routine.) 

How beautiful does the date have to be to convince John to go to an oboe concert with her? (a nine on a scale of ten, for oboe concerts are really boring in his opinion) 

How long can he go without sex before agreeing to follow an ugly date to a concert of the “one and only” Ozzie Osborne? (six month, John really hates Ozzie Osborne)

Can he tell organic oranges from ordinary ones? (no, but his allergy against certain preserving agents can)

Later, when they became lovers, John somehow thought that the experiments would stop. Instead, Sherlock just changed his focus. 

Does John come faster with outdoor orgasms in a dark alley or at a decent corner in an oriental wellness oasis, where they are hidden from view but in constant danger of being overheard by others? (the oriental wellness oasis)

Does obnoxious odour stop him from jumping into obscure fluid to save Sherlock from drowning? (no, but what idiot jumps into a cesspit just to solve an case first place, knowing he is a non-swimmer?)

Can Sherlock keep John's on-going erection going on for more than a day? (God, yes, and afterwards John has to admit that the relieve was well worth waiting for it)

Is John happy if you give him onyx cuff links for his birthday? (No, especially not because he knows that they have been a gift to Sherlock, who did not like them and handed them on to John, pretending to have a great present)

Does oral sex get boring if it is delivered once daily? (God no)

Does John have a favourite orifice? (YES)

Sometimes John feels like telling Sherlock to stop it. Especially after experiments like Is John really secretly scared of otters? (no, now that Sherlock pushed him into the compound it is no longer secret) and How long does John need to forgive Sherlock for being pushed into the otter compound? (more than two days, and accidentally burning his favourite book the same afternoon does not help)

Okay, to be true, John does tell him to stop it after the otter incident. With many outrageous swear words that would make even an open-minded sailor blush. But it has the same effect a tiny origami object has in an orang-utan compound (none). 

Instead, Sherlock just stares at John, as if he is the most fascinating specimen in the world, something completely out of the ordinary, with his intense gaze, and then Sherlock smiles, one of his genuine smiles, and says, “You are so interesting!”, and John knows his anger won't stand a chance against Sherlock's love-driven curiosity. Damn.

***

Sherlock is overexcited, and John knows that it is not a good sign. There have only been 4 minutes between skipping through the folders Lestrade sent them and sitting in a cab. That alone is seldom a good omen. The fact that Sherlock is happily grinning while explaining everything to John is ominous. 

Obviously, the two men everybody had held for opponents were really old friends, working together. How Sherlock can tell that by looking at their online ordering accounts is beyond John, but that is nothing new, really. It has something to do with one of them organising a drug cartel at the occasion of the Olympics, while the other covered up the resulting overdoses. Rumour has it that they even ousted one of the oldest drug lords in London. 

Sherlock followed the lead of the two men from October onwards and now he is optimistic that he can end it tonight. Well, no, he is often overly optimistic when on the chase, but tonight he is obsessed. The one everybody considered to be just another addicted oddball seems to be quite clever, and Sherlock takes it as a personal insult that it took him four days to figure that one out. 

Obviously they are bound to return to America, and once they are over the ocean they will be out of Sherlock's reach, for Mycroft's relations to the Oval Office are a bit tense momentarily.

There is a surge of adrenalin rushing through John's body, but it is not the thrilling kind that comes from the love of a good chase. It is the sobering one that comes from knowing that Sherlock is bound to do something incredibly stupid.

As soon as the cab reaches the old, empty orphanage, Sherlock jumps out and dashes away, John as closely on his trail as possible. They pass the overslept overseer and stopped at the opening of the orphanage, watching the two men and their two minions. John grabs his gun, but before he can say something, Sherlock just nods at the man sitting on the ottoman, and sprints onwards, right into the centre of the attention.

He surely has not forgotten what he wrote Mary about situations like these (John is keen on other people’s safety. Do not scratch your head with a loaded gun, wander alone into a room filled with gang members, or jump into the Thames to prove an alibi.). He just does not care right now.

At first everything happens very fast. Sherlock insults the two men with a strange comment concerning owls, everybody focuses their attention on him, John aims at the best target, moves closer while Sherlock keeps them busy, John's pulse speeds up, he is nearly in the right position to take out the two armed minions, …

But then life switches to slow-motion when one of the men grabs an opaque object and smashes it down on Sherlock's head and Sherlock sinks to the ground with only a strange, strangled cry, …

And then time stands still for a while, as Sherlock remains down on the ground, his body strangely twisted, and does not move and does not attempt to move and still does not move while John fires without thinking, taking down one of the criminals or the other, he no longer cares, and Sherlock still does not move, and the rest of the gang runs away and OMG Sherlock still does not move and how can John shoot and how can the criminals run away while time stands still?

Then, time slowly picks up speed again, as John stumbles towards Sherlock, checks for and finds a pulse, calls for an ambulance, moves Sherlock into recovery position, talks softly to him while waiting for help, and Sherlock still does not move at all.

Then, times flies again, and before John really knows what is happening, he is sitting in a cheap hospital chair, waiting for the neural surgery to be over, and then John is sitting in another cheap hospital chair by Sherlock's bedside, overseeing him day and night, wondering if he will ever wake up again or not, and then John is sitting in the same cheap hospital chair, softly talking Sherlock through his recovery, and then they are back home again, two weeks later.

Sherlock considers his current head injury as an outstanding opportunity to explore temporary amnesia and is kind of disappointed, when the expression “Oswald plays oboe in an orchestra in Omsk before eating oxtail soup, oysters and omelette” comes over his lips fluently. John watches him, stunned, and wonders why he feels like the odd one out here. 

They seem to return to normal soon, but John cannot help but feel like something went overboard that day at the orphanage. 

John knows that Sherlock is afraid that John might leave him one day. But no matter how much Sherlock outsmarts him, there is one thing the mad genius will probably not understand in time. John would never leave him for being overbearing or insensitive or inconsiderate. But he is honestly not sure if he can stand watching Sherlock risking his life one more time.


	3. Truthfulness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up in the morning and for a moment he wonders what is wrong. Then he realises that for the first time in about a month he was not woken by Sherlock having a terrible nightmare. Thinking of the nightmares makes John feel guilty, for they have clearly started around the same time John had started asking himself if he can really live with a lover who constantly risks his life carelessly without thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 104 words starting with T. All part of this chapter. Enjoy!

Sherlock is not good with emotions. 

Oh yes, he can deduce certain feelings that have clear signs, such as fear (fidgeting, gasping, tense and jerky muscle movements, trembling lip) or jealousy mixed with frustration (animated body language, sharp hand movements, and / or head shaken in disapproval) (the real reason why Mr. Williams from 225 took Mrs. Turner on a trip to Taiwan). But when it comes to the more subtle things in life, he feels lost.

And when the subtle signs could possibly indicate that he and John will not be together forever, this feeling turns into terror. 

******

Sherlock eyes John even more careful than usually. Which is easy, because he really loves looking at him first place. He appreciates John's timeless attractiveness, his warm eyes, his lovely toes, the way his teeth barely ever show when John smiles. 

The way his hair is slowly turning to grey, because they show Sherlock how much time has passed since they have first met and that John is still with him. 

For now.

The problem is that nothing seems to be wrong on the surface. John makes tea for two in the morning, makes sure that Sherlock eats enough, buys all the boring stuff Sherlock cannot be bothered with like toilet paper, tissues and food, lets Sherlock rest his head on John's tummy when they watch TV and pets Sherlock's curls regularly. And yet, something is tremendously wrong. There is a distance between them Sherlock cannot explain.

It feels like they were once sleeping in a king size bed that is now somehow replaced by two twin beds pushed together. There is even more space, but with some kind of gap between them.

For a while, Sherlock tries to handle it like he handles all kind of emotional problems. He ignores it.

That leads to terrifying nightmares about John leaving him one way or the other. Those nightmares make him wake up sobbing with tears streaming down his face, which is annoying but acceptable, but they also wake up John, which is not. John gets crotchety when tired, and the last thing Sherlock wants is John being even more whatever-he-is than he already is.

Plus it always make John holding Sherlock tight, but it feels too tight. Because it is basically the only time now when Sherlock feels really close to John. And no matter how intensely his testicles might beg to differ, Sherlock does not want to be the object of John's pity.

Then Sherlock theorises the problem to find out what is wrong. He hides in his mind palace and attempts to find a solution there. But that turns out to be a tricky thing, for he usually sees a mind version of John when dealing with emotional stuff. 

The John he sees now is unhelpful and cold, and the room Sherlock has dedicated to him looks tumbledown and dark. There are 92 different kind of tobacco ashes scattered on the ground for some reason, and the walls are pasted with printouts of comments from Twitter and tumblr, all saying “Think!” or “It's you!”. The soft violin music that usually plays John's favourite pieces is replaced by a cacophony of trumpets, trombones and timpani.

Spending time there is like torture, and Sherlock repeats the experience four times because he has the strange feeling that whatever is wrong with them is his fault. He feels like he deserves the torment, but is still not sure why.

When it finally becomes clear to Sherlock that he cannot solve this riddle alone, he toys with the idea of getting help. He needs a trustworthy advisor, one who is capable of giving competent suggestions, but insecure enough not to boast with it afterwards. Only forty minutes after realising that he is sitting in the morgue with Molly, pretending to be in need of fresh tongues and torn tendons.

Starting the actual topic is a bit tough because Molly does not get it right away and only understands what Sherlock wants after he told her so. Really, how slow can people be? Then she draws a face and starts twisting and turning like discussing Sherlock's and John's sex life would be some touchy subject, and Sherlock already regrets coming to her.

He flees from her when she starts dwelling on the fact that Sherlock never buys John flowers.

But his problem is still unsolved, the nightmares continue, and John continues to be strangely distant. Sherlock launches another set of experiments. Does John still look at him adoringly when he walks into the living room, wearing only a towel? (Yes but three distinctive seconds less than usually.)

Does John physically react to Sherlock wearing tight-fitting, thin trousers? (Yes, but he does not mention it. Not good.)

Is John still turned on at the display of Sherlock's athletic body? (Yes, according to the way he eyes Sherlock during his unnecessary but visually appealing triceps training without wearing a T-Shirt. But no sex afterwards. There IS something wrong!)

So there is still physical attraction, but no sex and a drastically reduced amount of kisses. After another week of feeling strangely lonely while lying in John's arms after the nightmares, Sherlock throws in the towel and returns to Molly. 

This time he brings the mail he sent to Mary some months ago, and they go through it together to find out how Sherlock could have messed it all up.

Molly is concerned that it might have been point 10 (John is unduly intent on his privacy. He will approve neither you hacking his laptop no matter how tedious his password is, nor you reading his mails, texts or other daily correspondence.), but as Sherlock has perfected to cover all tell-tale traces over the time he dismisses that easily. 

He himself is a bit worried about point 9 (He honestly likes wearing those jumpers. Do not make fun of them.), especially after his perfectly understandable reaction to that terribly tasteless turtle-neck or to the tracksuit top. Yes, he could probably have paraphrased his comments, but they agreed on telling each other the truth all the time and Sherlock always sticks to that, having learnt the hard way how devastating it was for John when Sherlock told him a lie the last time (Point 11, Do not lie to him. Never. Even if it would save his life!).

Molly strongly emphasizes that Sherlock keeps point 15 in mind (Try to avoid "the look". Though I don't know exactly what it is – just don't do it.), no matter how much testosterone his body might produce, but to that Sherlock only huffs. And gives her The Look, just because he can.

Molly continues talking afterwards, but Sherlock blends out most of it because it is the only way he can resist the temptation to taunt her mercilessly about her tutorial on “How to keep your lover”. He is very proud of himself for not pointing out the length of her longest long-term relationship.

He only tunes in again when she touches his arm. “Tell me the truth, you did not listen to a word I said, did you?” she huffs. Of course he had not, so she repeats her idea, “Why focus on what went wrong? Take your list and concentrate on treating John well, according to it. Maybe everything will fall back into place.”

Sherlock leaves her thoughtfully. Maybe that is really a good idea.

********

John wakes up in the morning and for a moment he wonders what is wrong. Then he realises that for the first time in about a month he was not woken by Sherlock having a terrible nightmare. 

Thinking of the nightmares makes John feel guilty, for they have clearly started around the same time John had started asking himself if he can really live with a lover who constantly risks his life carelessly without thinking.

It might be a bit unfair, for John would never mind risking his own life. A fact that Sherlock is clearly aware of (point 8 of his letter, He cares less for his own safety and needs to be taken care for in return. But he does not approve of being threatened at gunpoint.). And yet, John cannot find a way to come over to the memory of Sherlock lying on the floor of that orphanage.

Then he deliberately thinks of more pleasant things, because the whole orphanage incident is slowly killing him. The extremely delicious takeaway Sherlock had ordered yesterday, for example. It came from one of the best restaurants of London, one that does not usually deliver food. Food that Sherlock barely touched and clearly only ordered so John could enjoy it.

Sherlock delivers him with a tasty treat from time-to-time, and John cannot remember having had better food in his life. 

He sighs and gets up, still tired. And is greeted by Mycroft, who is sitting at their kitchen table, enjoying tea and toast in the middle of yesterday's takeaway boxes, smiling his serpent-like smile. Sherlock, who is standing at the kitchen counter behind him, looks at John only slightly apologetically.

John just stares, trying to figure out how embarrassed exactly he should be right now, standing in front of the most powerful man of England, completely naked. 

“I knew that the tabloids got that one wrong”, Mycroft cryptically says after eyeing John carefully. Smothering Mycroft with the tail end of the toast he is currently holding suddenly becomes a very tempting thought. 

“A lot better than those blue trunks you took off yesterday night,” Sherlock adds, completely unhelpful. John skips any reaction and just leaves for the bathroom.

When he returns, fully clothed and with damp hair, Mycroft is still there, and Sherlock looks like he is suffering from toothache. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into my little brother,” Mycroft says, and John instantly doubts that, even without knowing what it is about.

What he can say without doubt is that Sherlock looks at him very closely, as if taking in the new jeans and shirt very closely. Judging from the way Sherlock's lips and eye brows move ever so slightly, he likes what he sees.

Then Sherlock looks back at his brother and crinkles his nose in disdain. He is looking absolutely lovely that way. John cannot help but imagining little Sherlock, age 8 or so, looking at his big brother that way. “Mycroft objects to my idea of having a tattoo on the inside of my thigh” Sherlock explains matter-of-factly, and John instantly knows that he objects to the idea, too, and where does that spring from anyway?

But even more so he objects to Mycroft thinking it would somehow be his business. John walks up to Sherlock, takes the tea towel out of his hands (desperately hoping that what Sherlock had just mopped up was water) and presses a rather thrilling kiss on Sherlock's lips.

“What a wonderful idea”, he lies, hoping that Sherlock knows it is a lie, and throws an evil glance at Mycroft. He has no clear idea of why he acts like that. Must be some strange kind of the team spirit he always feels when someone openly criticizes Sherlock.

“Looks like the terrible two have sided again,” Mycroft sighs and prepares to leave the flat. “I'll be out of the country for a while. Try not to bring about Britain's downfall in the meantime.”

“Travelling to Turkey again?” Sherlock asks without really wondering, and Mycroft ignores him. Surely some very clever teasing John does not get, or a hint to Mycroft's involvements with the politics of other countries John does not want to know about. Anyway, it took him a while to realize that it was the first proper kiss they had shared in quite a while.

Later that day, they are called to a crime scene at Tottenham. 

The last time they were there was when they were (successfully) hunting after the so-called Turquoise Tuxedo Killer, who for some obscure reasons seems to like killing middle-aged women while they were enjoying a TV dinner. Well, as much as one can enjoy a TV dinner, that is. He strangles them from behind, finishes their meal and the attaches the empty aluminium bowl to their hands with a twist tie.

There is heavy traffic on the road, so Sherlock decides to take the Tube to Tottenham, a forty minute trip and one of the strangest John has ever endured in Sherlock's present. Travelling with a four-year old must feel very similar, for Sherlock is obviously in “Why”-mode.

“Why is that girl wearing a shirt that tells the world to go train-spotting, John?” (Because she likes a very popular film you have never heard of before, Sherlock.)

“Why is that tourist wearing a towel on his head, John?” (It's a traditional turban, have you really never seen one before?)

“Why do young people mutilate the walls of the tube with mentions of boring topics like tea making facilities, John?” (It's tea-bagging, Sherlock, it's not … Oh hell, I'll just show you at home!)

When they arrive at the crime scene they learn that it is really possible to kill someone with the top of a table tennis racket and Sherlock seems to be absolutely thrilled. Then he finds out that the transsexual victim was a tool trader who received threatening text messages because of launching a threesome. After that, Sherlock solves the case in less than ten minutes.

“I am sorry the case was rather boring,” Sherlock says matter-of-factly when they leave the crime scene again, “but I'm sure you can turn it into something more interesting when you blog about it.” Oh, was that a compliment?

During their trip home Sherlock complains about the tardiness of the London Tube, how people are tempting targets for thieves when keeping their wallets in their pockets like that, insults a few strangers with his deductions – in short, business as usual.

At home Sherlock surprises John again by not spoiling Criminal Minds with his ten-second-deduction of how the episode will end and later by giving John another clearly approving glance when John changes into his pyjamas. 

John lies awake for quite a long time, and wonders who that person next to him is and what he has done to Sherlock Holmes. When he is sure that Sherlock is fast asleep, he gets up again and ponders about that strange day some more. He feels like they had a terrific time together, even though he cannot say clearly why.

When he goes into the kitchen to get some water to stop the tickling in his throat, his eyes fall on a piece of paper that hangs out of the pocket of Sherlock's coat. It's a copy of his letter to Mary, and some of the points are marked with pink ink with glitter in it.

The marked ones are point 12 (His knowledge of primary school syllabus is probably bigger that that of an average person. Give him the opportunity to demonstrate that from time to time.), 

point 14 (He enjoys being loyal. Create situations for him to stand by your side, e.g. start a minor fight with your parents. Even better when fighting over something when you are wrong. He will protect you anyway and feel heroic about it.), 

point 16 (John minds being excessively told why his favourite TV shows are deficient. He usually gets angry after the fifth remark within 45 minutes. You should also refrain from informing him about continuity and production errors.) 

and point 17 (He is vain, but only on a very basic level. Do not mention that he looks good, as that would only embarrass him. Regular approving glances are appropriate. Notwithstanding, he reacts to positive reinforcement regarding his writing skills. Praise regarding his writing skills cannot be overdone. Do not mention the speed with which he types. Do not suggest learning how to touch-type.)

John stares at it for a long time. So that is what Sherlock has been up to all day. John continues to stare at it and loses his sense of time. Then he folds the sheet of paper carefully, hoping that he rearranged it exactly the way he found it, and slips back into bed.

The moon is nearly full and illuminates Sherlock's face. It is almost unbelievable how young and innocent he looks at night, with this nearly transparent skin of his and those delicate lips. It is completely unbelievable how much John is in love with him.

And yet, his doubts during the last weeks have been more than just a tempest in a teacup. John sighs silently. He gently strokes back a wild curl from Sherlock's face with his thumb, and places a soft kiss on Sherlock's temple.

Maybe it's just John's problem, not Sherlock's. Some deep-rooted trust issues. Or maybe seeing Sherlock lying on the floor of the orphanage has just been some kind of test fate has sent for John, and staying right here by Sherlock's side is the only possible answer to that. Another testament to their tenacity. Yes, that is exactly how John wants to see it.

He lies down, reaches for Sherlock, and even though the detective is sound asleep he instantly wraps himself around John. That should be it, then, John thinks, crisis over. They belong together, full stop. No more doubts.

And John could sleep like a baby now, if he could only convince himself of the truthfulness of this forced epiphany.


	4. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The absence of drama is what will haunt Sherlock the most during the weeks that will follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it finally is. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that it took me so long - and how happy I am that Like A Landslide is no longer a WIP.  
> So here is the final chapter. It contains 124 words starting with A. No wonder it turned out angsty, right? Enjoy!

They have been a couple for more than a year now, and Sherlock is still not good at doing an accident analysis on the changed dynamics of their relationship. Their anniversary is a bit awkward because Sherlock still does not understand what kind of problem John is carrying around with him. And as they are both lousy at talking about it, he has to learn it the hard way four days later.

***

Of course, afterwards Sherlock will blame himself for not being on alert in time. But the current case is brilliant, a murder covered up as an auto-erotic accident. Solving it includes analysing several obscure alkaloids, running through London at night to find an armadillo, and a fistfight with an androgynous mime that makes clear once again that John is so much more than an army doctor. Sherlock is filled with absolute adoration. Back home it becomes clear that winning a dirty fistfight works like an aphrodisiac for John, and that the attraction he feels towards Sherlock is still there. It takes them a really long time to fall asleep afterwards.

In the early morning, Sherlock sneaks out of bed silently. It was their first real sexual encounter after John started behaving strangely. Saying Sherlock is in a good mood would be a huge understatement. He has some of the Armenian cuisine left-overs for breakfast and continues analysing some of the alkaloids left, just for fun. He barely looks up when John enters the kitchen some hours later, only scans John quickly to see he is wearing the t-shirt that has the word “amore” written on it. John's favourite. Gift from Sherlock for their one-month anniversary.

He answers the affectionate kiss on his head with a hum, knowing that John is not insulted by his lack of attention. The better part of Sherlock's mind keeps thinking about chemicals while a little part of his brain listens to the lovely domestic background noises John creates. Kettle boiling, fridge door opening and closing, yesterday's mail being pushed aside, cups being placed on the counter with a little rattle.

Only when John makes a strange little noise does Sherlock's attention focus on him. He is only slightly alarmed and proudly presents the fact that he has learned social basics, “Are you all right?”

John's back is turned towards him, so he cannot read his face when John answers, “Sure, just a bit dizzy.” 

There are many reasons for that, Sherlock's mind offers. It could be the aftermath of a night full of all-consuming passion (unlikely, for John is in very good physical shape), his allergy against (mostly American) apples (did he eat one when he was at the Yard on his own? Unlikely), too much alcohol (but they only had one glass of whisky each last night) …

Then John turns around, a cup of tea (meant for Sherlock, no doubt) in his hands, and Sherlock sees his face turn ashen. His mind keeps listing reasons for that too, all of them disturbing. He stands up instantly, but before he can say something or reach him, John drops the cup. It hits the tiles of the kitchen floor and shatters. That is the only sound to be heard. John does not cry out in pain, does not even gasp when he collapses just a second afterwards.

It is absurd, really, for terrible things should be accompanied by terrible noise. No one should go down silently like that. You would expect some animalistic, painful screaming, right? Plus, a victim should show a terrible reaction, like a contorted face or a body twisted in agony. No one should go down with just a slightly astounded expression on his face. The absence of drama is what will haunt Sherlock the most during the weeks that will follow.

He is by John's side only seconds after his body hit the ground. Ignores the fact that his hands are trembling when he checks for vital signs. He finds none. Cardiac arrest, his minds delivers. Chances of survival exist only if ambulance is called fast and CPR is given immediately.

An unnatural calm spreads through Sherlock. He pulls out his mobile, puts it on speaker and makes the emergency call while moving John's limp body away from the counter, away from the shattered cup so he will have enough space to perform the CPR until the ambulance arrives. Should be eight minutes, given that the ambulance driver knows about the road works on Marylebone Road.

Then he starts with the chest compressions, steady and deep, then does mouth-to-mouth respiration. The back of his mind registers how wrong it feels that John's chest is not moving on its own and that John's usually so expressive face is lifeless. The better part of his mind tells him that he will not be able to keep up CPR with this intensity for another seven minutes.

“Mrs Hudson,” he yells, and starts the second round of compression and ventilation. When she comes into the kitchen, he is into the third round. His mind, without having asked for permission, deduces what kind of meal she is preparing from the pattern of dirt on her apron. Asparagus. 

She starts to babble, but Sherlock cuts her off. “Go down to Speedy's, find someone who can help me with CPR,” he snaps, then starts the fourth round. Sweat is already running down his face. 

During the fifth round he breaks three of John's ribs.

During the sixth round, Mrs. Hudson returns with a young woman. Au pair from Azerbaijan, his mind automatically delivers, auburn hair dyed black, almond eyes, considered attractive by most English men, avaricious, lives in an attic, current boyfriend Arsenal fan. She takes over after the seventh round for two minutes while Sherlock leans heavily against the kitchen wall, panting.

They have taken four more turns each when the ambulance finally arrives. One of the three paramedics has recently crossed the Atlantic Ocean, one of them is an asexual atheist and lives alone. The third one hates the tattoo on her ankle. There are further deductions hammering into Sherlock's awareness and he clings to them as to a lifeline. Because if he stopped deducing he would start feeling and that is a luxury he cannot afford right now. 

He watches them preparing John to start defibrillation. Strangely what touches him the most is that they have to cut open John's favourite shirt. Defibrillation is rather unspectacular in real life. John's body does not jerk violently. It only twitches slightly. John's head lolls to the side. His hands look like they are cramped. Nothing else happens. 

The second time is as unspectacular as the first. After the third time one of the paramedics claims that he can feel a pulse. With a subtle gasp John starts breathing again. Sherlock's mind tells him that even though in about sixty percent of all cases the heart starts beating again, only five to ten percent of all patients with sudden cardiac arrest survive in the end. The paramedic with the adorable nose explains to Sherlock that in hospital they will have to search for the reason of the cardiac arrest and check John for brain damage. 

Sherlock is polite and appreciates it when Mrs Hudson volunteers to stay with John in the ambulance. The paramedics and the au pair and Mrs Hudson leave all together and take brain-damaged or not brain-damaged John on the stretcher with them. Sherlock watches from the living room window as the ambulance drives away. 

Before he can control it a thought crosses his mind. Good thing they did not spend money on the advanced booking of those expensive opera tickets John wanted to have. The business conditions said no right of return even in cases of death. 

Sherlock takes a deep breath that somehow gets caught in his chest. He tries again and is slightly annoyed when he fails to breathe out properly.

The next thing he knows is that he is on the bathroom floor, violently vomiting while crying his heart out, his body shaking, his hands clutching to whatever part of Mycroft they can grasp. For the first time in his life Sherlock is glad that Mycroft always keeps replacing cameras and bugs Sherlock throws out every week.

Later he will surely be ashamed of it but right now Sherlock willingly lets his big brother take over. The Bathroom Incident lasts for twelve minutes. When Sherlock is done vomiting, Mycroft forces him to undress and shoves him under a hot shower. When Sherlock comes out of the bathroom, only slightly shaking now, his brother has found out that one of the letters on the kitchen counter had been prepared with a rare contact poison and has already informed the hospital that the antidote against it is on its way.

Sherlock is pulled into one of Mycroft's black cars and taken to the hospital. During the ride he avoids looking into Mycroft's eyes at all costs but secretly sneaks his hand onto his brother's armpit for reassurance. The fact that caring is not an advantage hammers inside his head. When they arrive at the hospital, Mrs Hudson embraces Sherlock and then Mycroft and leads Sherlock to the waiting room.

And then he waits.

Waiting is not good of course. Leaves him with more than enough time at hand to ponder how he could have missed the poisoned letters. (By being an arrogant sod, obviously, who thinks he is invulnerable and hence does not check their flat for death traps often enough. Even though he might have attracted the attention of three potentially lethal enemies only last month.)

Waiting also makes painfully clear how the alienation between him and John started. There is an ache in his chest that spreads when he thinks about how often John must have sat in a waiting room like this, worried for Sherlock's life. 

Sherlock himself has never really been shaken by the huge number of injuries he has sustained over time. He has long ago accepted the fact that they are adventure addicts. And yet he has been a careless arsehole for he never wondered how scared John must have been every single time Sherlock got hurt. 

Because Sherlock is scared to death right now. He allows himself to feel anger again for being so careless, hoping it might drive the fear away.

It does not work. Now he is angry and scared at the same time. And very close to do something that would bring him an anti social behaviour order. Which would be not good. One surely gets arrested for destroying hospital property like empty chairs or tables with useless magazines on them. He tries to restrain himself but whenever he looks at the empty chair next to him John's absence becomes painfully clear. 

Molly drops by later on so Mrs Hudson can go home. 

Apparently there are rituals one has to obey when waiting in a hospital. Like drinking too much coffee and feeling all shivery inside. Or getting a cramp in one's abdominal muscles from sitting on the edge of the chair. Or learning that the doctors are “still busy over your partner” and being left to the painful ambiguity of this statement. 

Molly is very helpful and makes sure Sherlock executes all those rituals. He wonders if he would get away with killing her by claiming to have suffered from amnesia or if the annoyed woman from the other side of the room might give him an alibi.

In the end, he refrains from killing Molly. Instead, he tries to smile when she provides him with a Snickers even though he does not have any appetite at all. 

After a while, Sherlock realises that he is playing with a sheet of paper. It's used and wrinkled and came from the depth of his coat pockets. It is a copy of his letter to Mary. The one with Molly's notes on it. For some reason, his glance falls on point 13 (“He is strangely forgiving when drugged for research. Refrain from doing so anyway, your chemical knowledge is insufficient.”), and tears rush into his eyes momentarily and there is a certain amount of anarchy inside his head. When the storm clears, a doctor is standing in front of him and Molly is tactfully stepping on his toe again and again.

“What?” he says, for he did not hear a single word the doctor said. Ponders apologising but dismisses it. He's surely not the first one to be absent-minded here in this dreadful room.

“We are finished with our examination. You might see him now,” the doctor tells him. He says many other things as well, like John's arteries being all right and his brain being basically all right and that they will have to arrange an appointment for occupational therapy soon to fix the harmless harm done to the brain. But all that really matters to Sherlock and what really makes his heart doing a rather artistic stunt is, “You might see him now”.

The way to John's room is endless. Sherlock is sure Molly leads him in circles, for this God forsaken hospital can never be that big and all the walls look the same. The smell of antiseptic alcohol hurts his nose. The smell of diseases and deaths hurts his soul.

But John will be all right, the doctor said. Only a little problem with his speech and his fine motor skills. Only a little problem. Whatever that means. And the broken ribs of course. Nothing serious.

After four endless minutes, they finally arrive at John's room. Sherlock musters up an aristocratic attitude, erectness and all, takes a deep breath and ignores the fact that he is still scared like hell. Opens the door and feels his false erectness crumble to dust again instantly.

John looks alien to him, small and pale and helpless and alone and hurt and small. For a second, Sherlock is sure that his feet will turn his body around on their own accord and make him run away as fast as he can. Instead, he remains standing on the doorstep, frozen. If today would be the arrival date of an asteroid hitting earth, destroying the entire planet right now, Sherlock would not mind. It would be better than seeing John like this.

Molly's last good deed before leaving is shoving Sherlock into the room and closing the door from the outside.

For a second, Sherlock thinks that John is asleep and feels shamefully glad about not having to face him right now. Then John turns his head, sees Sherlock and smiles. “Sherlock,” he says groggily.

Only that he doesn't say Sherlock, not really. He stretches the S and slurs the O and it sounds more like “ssssssh'lck”. Sherlock swallows hard. The atmosphere is thick with awkwardness and pain and a loss of words. 

“John” he says, not really eloquently. He remains standing in the door, staring at John, wondering if there is some alternate universe in which he knows how to go on from here. 

He feels his body walking towards John's bed. His hand places itself on the part of the blanket that covers John's belly. He watches John reaching out for the hand but missing it by several centimetres. “Only a little problem,” the doctor said. Sherlock briefly wonders if it is April Fool's day already or if the doctor had lied to comfort him.

“This is not a little problem,” he blurts out. 

John looks at him as if he had grown antennas on his head or something. Then he averts his eyes. 

He is ashamed, Sherlock deduces, because of his apparent lack of fine motor skills. Probably even ashamed for nearly dying. John can be very stupid in that regard some times. But that is fine, really, because Stupid John is something Sherlock can handle perfectly.

“Stop being an idiot,” he huffs and places John's hand onto his own. 

“I love you,” John answers, his words still painfully slurred. 

“So what,” Sherlock pretends to pout, “I love you too. No reason to be idiotically ashamed for being poisoned.”

John's mouth does a funny thing that would surely be a smile had his nerves not suffered from the contact poison. Sherlock cannot help but beam at him. There is nothing ambiguous left when suddenly they have their arms around each other and Sherlock gently kisses John.

Strange how disasters sometimes make everything all right again.

***

The following days turn out to be a strange mixture of boredom and domesticity and fear and relief. Sherlock tries to entertain John with stories he made up but pretends to be true, like the anecdote about the absent-minded archbishop who got killed in a rather spectacular accident while chiming the dome bells with an axe in his hand.

Only briefly does Sherlock think of the advice he gave Mary in his letter concerning John's need for intellectual stimulation. (“Remain being intellectually challenging for him. See attachment 3 for Adult Education programmes around Kensington.”)

It seems like a lifetime ago that he wrote that letter. But then, here in the purgatory of hospitalness, even having breakfast that morning seems like a lifetime ago. And how wrong he had got John in that respect. He had seriously thought it would be advisable for Mary to take an A level in Algebra to talk to him about aberrations or something. 

And yes, aberrations might not have something to do with algebra but analysis but that is not the point here. They could also have talked about aliphatic and aromatic amines, it would have never made John love her enough.

The point is that John is perfectly happy with Sherlock sitting by his side, just spending time with him.

And Sherlock is perfectly happy with John being alive.

When Sherlock gives a detailed and completely fictional report on the murder of an accordion player he found guilty because his boarding pass showed that he had taken the aisle seat in an aircraft after being accused of accepting bribes at the “Arabian night” section of a spa, both of them cannot deny their arousal. 

“We really need to see such a spa soon,” John says. Well, he nearly says that. His speech is still slurred but Sherlock's brain is almost able to ignore that. Then John sobers.

Because it has been made clear by the young doctor that John will not be able to take part in any “all-night activities”, as she had put it blushingly. 

“No armchair sex, no anilingus,” Sherlock translated for John who smirked.

“Maybe decent lazy afternoon sex will be possible,” he answered and the alabaster skin of the young doctor flushed even more deeply.

So no, no secret sex at a spa for quite a while.

***

The funny thing about the most gruesome event in Sherlock's life is that John is completely back to his old self again. Well, with the language problem and slight coordination difficulties, yes. But he is loving Sherlock again without restraint.

When John is awake all afternoon for the second time in a row, Sherlock brings board games. He hates all of them and so does John. But moving those little meeples will surely increase John's motor skills and so they try to make the best of it.

Then Sherlock remembers the advice he once gave to Mary in that letter (7 When you cannot avoid playing board games with him, do not play by the rules. Bend them. He will complain, but he will adore you for it as well, if rule bending is done in an intellectually appealing way.) and he sticks to it.

Soon they are both making up so many new rules to Stratego that they have to giggle with every move they make. 

“There is no way your spy can move that many squares and he is called spy and not consulting detective” John complains at one point.

“Yes, he can,” Sherlock huffs, “because of his eternal attraction to your captain.” He awaits approval and gets it in form of a not well-placed but heartfelt kiss. Awesome!

***

After a while they start having visitors.

The first one is Lestrade who hands Sherlock a manila folder from an unsolved case. John's interested glance is the only reason Sherlock bothers to look at it. He needs three minutes to find out that the acid attack was carried out by an actor who acted as ambassador of Abu Dhabi using a dead spy's alias. Ridiculous, really, for even among his ancient ancestors there is no one with an Arabian background, plus you cannot be the ambassador of a city. And the fact that he kept saying appetiser instead of aperitif should have told Lestrade everything he had to know. Stupid moron.

He needs two more minutes to figure out that Lestrade brought the cold case only because he was scared of John's condition and didn't know how to behave. When realising that, Sherlock gets the strange feeling that as John's partner he is supposed to say something meaningful to Lestrade.

“I have to stay away from John's anal area for some time but otherwise he was rather lucky.”

Judging from Lestrade's and John's face the quality of that statement can be described as ambivalent at best. But then, Lestrade brought an autograph of Anderson as a get-better present. That does not show a high EQ either. Isn't there a saying about a glass house and throwing stones?

The second visitor, surprisingly, is Harry. Sherlock gracefully ignores the fact that her brother's near death has caused a short but severe setback. He keeps in mind his own wise words about dealing with her (19 Get along with Harry, but do not become her best friend. John will prefer it if you and Harry are relaxed in each other's company, but he will also need you to complain to whenever she drinks again. For more detailed instructions on how to get along with Harry but just barely so, see attachment 2.) and acts accordingly.

Which is difficult because Harry starts sobbing the moment she sees John in his hospital bed. 

“Alas, John!” she says again and again. She mentions that John nearly died so often that Sherlock's chest starts hurting in a peculiar way. When he is sure that he has been nice for ample time, he starts commenting on the aerobics leotard she is wearing but not the ale she had last night.

When Harry is gone, Sherlock wordlessly climbs into John's very narrow bed and refuses to let him go for eighty-four minutes. He breathes in John's smell, feels John's hair on his cheek and the slightly trembling movement of John's thumb on his arm. 

“When we're old and grey and you are writing my autobiography and you mention this,” Sherlock informs John, “you will leave out the fact that I was crying.”

John tries to stroke away the tears with his fingers and manages to do so without gouging Sherlock's eyes. “You have to write your autobiography yourself, you git,” he whispers. “That's why it is called auto-biography.”

Sherlock huffs this away. “I am not good at writing. Besides, no one will know. People are idiots, remember? And we can include an asterisk on the cover that explains how you are my ghost-writer.”

They both fall silent for a while. Sherlock remembers that first time he told John about people being idiots. It still feels incredible to see how far they have come since then.

“The letter,” John say suddenly.

Sherlock is still occupied with his memories of meeting John and needs some time until he realises which letter John is talking about. The letter John was never supposed to read. (The letter itself said so in its final point 20, “John is not to see this mail. It could result in a profound change of heart and is therefore not in your interest. Learn it by heart. It will be erased from all servers in two hours sharp.”)

“That letter was written brilliantly,” John says affectionately, “we would not be here together now otherwise, right?”

That, Sherlock has to admit. He makes an affirmative sound and continues pressing his nose against John's temple.

“I love the ending the most. It always makes me smile,”John goes on, apparently not willing to dwell on it in silence. Like the rest of the letter, Sherlock of course knows the ending by heart.

(“As I am the one who broke him, it should be me attempting to do the mending, but he has made his decision on that topic clear. You are far from being perfect for the job, but then, neither am I. You will be unable to give him what he needs concerning points 3, 4 and 8. Do not be alarmed, I have failed at points 5, 9, 13 and 19 on a regular basis and his feelings for me have never changed. It is only point 11 that will be unforgiven.”)

They have talked about it before, and Sherlock knows that it was his apparent selflessness that made John leave Mary. A character trait he is sure has not existed before John entered his life.

John finally falls silent again and Sherlock can continue to listen to John's breathing. A warm feeling spreads in his stomach because he realises that John is alive and loving him and he will be listening to John's breathing for decades to come.

Which is perfect because it is exactly what Sherlock intends to do. 

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who gave me the words for this wonderful promt. I would have never written about an absent-minded archbishop and his axe without you.
> 
> Thanks to all who patiently followed and to all whose comments encouraged me not to give up.
> 
> Biggest thanks to my wonderful betas, Katzedecimal, Grizzy, Davina and GoSherlocked. Like my other fics, this one wouldn't be half as good without you.


	5. The mail to Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been asked to add the whole mail to Mary. Brilliant idea. Here it is. :-)

From: Sherlock Homes  
To: Mary Morstan  
Subject: How to handle John

You are the one responsible for mending John now. I doubt that you know how, so I've made you a list of things you should keep in mind while dealing with him.

1\. John prefers rooms warm. Make sure the indoor temperature is always around 21°. He will not complain when too cold, so keep an eye on the thermostat.

2\. John likes to take care. Give him situations in which he can do so, e.g. you could sprain an ankle or catch the flu. That will heal him faster than your tedious “Time heals all wounds” mentality. Time does not heal all wounds. Believe me.

3\. John needs a certain amount of danger in his life. He gets restless and cantankerous if too secure. Danger makes him forget his own imperfections.

4\. You can tell he will have a nightmare by the way he sits in his chair prior to going to bed. See pictures in attachment 1. Waking him when next to him can be dangerous (ex-soldier). Playing an instrument in another room shortly after the nightmare starts is a well-proven method. If you do not play an instrument, learn how to do so. Soon.

5\. He leaves when arguing too intensely. Do not be alarmed. He always comes back. Do not follow him or call him or text him or send someone after him to watch him. Apparently that would be a nearly unforgivable course of action. Just leave him some space.

6\. He does not mind an average number of body parts in the fridge. But I doubt that this knowledge is helpful for you and your boring daily routine.

7\. When you cannot avoid playing board games with him, do not play by the rules. Bend them. He will complain, but he will adore you for it as well, if rule bending is done in an intellectually appealing way.

8\. John is keen on other people’s safety. Do not scratch your head with a loaded gun, wander alone into a room filled with gang members, or jump into the Thames to prove an alibi. He cares less for his own safety and needs to be taken care for in return. He does not approve of being threatened at gunpoint, too.

9\. He honestly likes wearing those jumpers. Do not make fun of them.

10\. John is unduly intent on his privacy. He will approve neither you hacking his laptop no matter how tedious his password is, nor you reading his mails, texts or other daily correspondence.

11\. Do not lie to him. Never. Even if it would save his life!

12\. His knowledge of primary school syllabus is probably bigger that that of an average person. Give him the opportunity to demonstrate that from time to time.

13\. He is strangely forgiving when drugged for research. Refrain from doing so anyway, your chemical knowledge is insufficient.

14\. He enjoys being loyal. Create situations for him to stand by your side, e.g. start a minor fight with your parents. Even better when fighting over something when you are wrong. He will protect you anyway and feel heroic about it.

15\. Try to avoid "the look". Though I don't know exactly what it is – just don't do it.

16\. John minds being excessively told why his favourite TV shows are deficient. He usually gets angry after the fifth remark within 45 minutes. You should also refrain from informing him about continuity and production errors.

17\. He is vain, but only on a very basic level. Do not mention that he looks good, as that would only embarrass him. Regular approving glances are appropriate. Notwithstanding, he reacts to positive reinforcement regarding his writing skills. Praise regarding his writing skills cannot be overdone. Do not mention the speed he types with. Do not suggest learning how to type with more that two fingers.

18\. Remain being intellectually challenging for him. See attachment 3 for Adult Education programmes around Kensington.

19\. Get along with Harry, but do not become her best friend. John will prefer it if you and Harry are relaxed in each other's company, but he will also need you to complain to whenever she drinks again. For more detailed instructions on how to get along with Harry but just barely so, see attachment 2.

20\. John is not to see this mail. It could result in a profound change of heart and is therefore not in your interest. Learn it by heart. It will be erased from all servers in two hours sharp.

 

As I am the one who broke him, it should be me attempting to do the mending, but he has made his decision on that topic clear.

You are far from being perfect for the job, but then, neither am I. You will be unable to give him what he needs concerning points 3, 4 and 8. Do not be alarmed, I have failed at points 5, 9, 13 and 19 on a regular basis and his feelings for me have never changed.

It is only point 11 that will be unforgiven.

SH


End file.
